Juliet
by Butterfly Conlon
Summary: What is in a name?


Note From Author: I had an idea and I just had to go for it.  
  
JULIET  
  
I believe that it was the great playwright William Shakespeare that asked what's in a name.  
  
A name. Quite a peculiar thing, don't you fancy? Everyone has one. Yet they are different. A name can mean all the difference in the world.  
  
I remember the way that he used to say my name. He would pull me close, close enough that I could feel his chest rising and falling against mine. Close enough that I could feel his hot breath invade my ear.  
  
"Juliet," he would whisper into my ear, causing me to shudder. The way the word so sharply flowed off his tongue, yet so softly. Like a knife cutting through butter.  
  
I would gaze into his eyes, two enormous orbs of green fire. I felt myself get lost in them. I felt safe. Safe and I never wanted to let go.  
  
But the way father would say my name. So different than Spot did. So, different, and yet it was the same. He would say it so caustically, like the alcohol was impairing his voice. I cringed in fear every time he uttered my name. "Juliet," he would hiss, and I would hide in the darkness, closing my eyes and over my hands over my ears. I wanted it to go away. Away.  
  
It's funny what a name is. A name can mean all the difference in the world.  
  
I had met Spot Colon through a mutual acquaintance. I had never believed in fantasies and storybook romances, but with one look into his eyes, all that evaporated from my mind in one moment.  
  
He had been a newsboy, and I had been a servant to a wealthy family down on Oaktimber Lane.  
  
I remember that I everyday that I finished working for the day, as I walked down the Jetragan's sidewalk and out the front gates where I would then make my way home, in my silly little black dress, he would be waiting for me.  
  
Come rain or shine, he would be waiting for me.  
  
He would lean against the gatepost and look at he with green fire for eyes, and that smirk across his face.  
  
I would look at him and smile, a shy smile. I still didn't comprehend how someone like me, little Juliet, could have captured something so utterly gorgeous as he.  
  
He would wrap his arm around my waist and pull me close, and I would lean my head on his shoulder as he faithfully lead me back home.  
  
"How was ya day, Juliet," he would say.  
  
Oh, how he said my name. It made my insides turn to gelatin and my knees want to buckle under me. I could feel him looking down on me with his deep jade eyes, and would blush head to toe.  
  
"It was the same as it is everyday, Spot. Working day in and day out for the Jetragans. I can't wait until I get out of here.'  
  
"I know," he would say, leaning his head on mine. "Just wait until we are old enough, and we can go where ever the hell we want."  
  
We. He never fail to include me in his life plans. Me, silly little Juliet.  
  
We would walk in silence until we reached the threshold of my home. He would turn to me, his eyes boring into mine. Then, ever so slowly, he would tilt his head and lean forward.  
  
It was always at that moment I was glad that he had his arms around me, holding me, or else I would have collapsed to the floor in a state of impossible euphoria.  
  
I would always stand on tiptoes, and my lips would meet his soft ones, in an even softer kiss. But as the night would grow more lightness as the moments passed, our kiss would grow more passionate. Bright colors and alarms would rupture in my head, and I knew that I had to either be dreaming or in heaven.  
  
But then we would pull away, and I would once again look into those jeweled eyes, and I knew it was real.  
  
That smile would cross his face and he would lean down and whisper in my ear, my breathing now at an all time high, "I love you, Juliet."  
  
Those three little words with my name would always be too much. Juliet. How he said it.  
  
I would fall against him, and he would softly laugh.  
  
"I love you, too," I would stammer, not believing that I was saying those words to one such as he.  
  
But I was.  
  
He would pull away, beaming at me, those eyes glittering and kiss me on my forehead. "Remember I will always love you."  
  
That was the parting he always left me with, as he would turn slowly on his heel, and I would watched as his figure would get dimmer and dimmer in the falling darkness, as he would stroll back to the lodging house.  
  
I would sigh. I couldn't comprehend that Spot Conlon had confessed he loved me, as he did every night. But when I reached the skirt of the porch, I would halt.  
  
I never wanted to go through that horrible door and into the horrible blackness of that horrible house and here him hiss my name.  
  
But I did. As I would walk through the doorway, I would be engulfed in blackness. The door would slam shut with a clean bang, and I would silently curse it.  
  
I didn't want it to wake him up.  
  
I would creep through the parlor and would let out a silent prayer when my foot found the first step.  
  
He had been asleep, after all.  
  
All the terrible thoughts would be forgotten, and new ones of Spot Conlon and the magical kisses would enter my head.  
  
In a dreamlike state, I had put my weight on the step, causing it to creak and causing the horrible voice to hiss, "Juliet."  
  
Oh, how that voice shattered my thoughts.  
  
"Juliet."  
  
Oh, how a name be articulated in such two different ways? One in such a sweet, serene state, and the other so harsh and corrosive?  
  
I had turned around, knowing I had put the noose around my own neck, and had seen his hunched silhouette against the dim darkness.  
  
"Juliet."  
  
Oh, how I wanted to put my hands to my ears to banish that hateful sound.  
  
"Juliet."  
  
"Yes, Father?" I would reply.  
  
"You are late, Juliet. Late."  
  
"I am sorry , Father," I had choked. "Mrs. Jetragan wanted me to help her with some cooking."  
  
He had then shook his head and clicked his tongue, hobbling closer to me.  
  
I had recoiled back, wishing desperately to dash up the stares, but I was held in a state of fixation.  
  
He had hobbled over and clutched my neck in his rough hand, nearly choking me to death. "Who was that boy out there, Juliet?"  
  
"Father, there was no boy out there!" I had stammered, trying my best to breathe.  
  
His clutch would get tighter and he had leaned forward closer to mine. I could make out the scars that trailed his face, his jaundiced skin that gave off a sick yellow color, and his watery brown eyes.  
  
"Juliet," he had hissed, his breath that reeked of alcohol invading my nostrils. "Don't lie to me. I saw that boy out there."  
  
"Father, please!" I had gasped. "There was.eh.no boy!"  
  
His clutch had gotten tighter and his face nearer to mine, so that now his sickly brown eyes were inches away from mine. "You bitch, how dare you lie to me!"  
  
And he had thrown me down on the stairs, and I had fell into a mad coughing fit, trying to regain my breath. I had looked at him with wild eyes, and I had finally regained enough air supply so that I could croak, "Leave me alone!"  
  
I had pushed past him and flung myself out the door, and ran all the way to Spot.  
  
As I told you, I was silly little Juliet. And I know it was my silliness that caused Spot and I to die.  
  
***  
  
That night, I had stayed with Spot at the lodging house. Being so that he was the leading newsboy, he had had his own room and own set of bunks.  
  
I couldn't fall asleep all that night, even with his protective arm around me and his rhythmic breathing in my ears. I just kept thinking about the horrible name in my ears.  
  
Ju-li-et.  
  
No, stop.  
  
Ju-li-et  
  
No! Ju-li-et.  
  
Shut-up, shut-up, shut-up!  
  
JU-LI-ET!  
  
NO!  
  
I had woken up the next morning, to find the sunlight streaming through the window and Spot looking in the cracked mirror combing his hair.  
  
He had caught me looking at him in the mirror, and he had looked around, that smile lining his face and those eyes so full of that green fire.  
  
He had sat down on the lower bunk, pulling me close. "I love you, Juliet." And he had kissed me.  
  
As I felt his lips interlock with mine, I felt myself melt in such a manner that the icicle melts with the first coming of the sun.  
  
Juliet. How he said my name. So melodic and harmonious.  
  
Juliet.  
  
He had pulled away, his eyes glittering.  
  
I had felt my heart leap into my throat, and I was afraid that if I opened my mouth that it would fall onto his lap.  
  
"I love you, too," I had whispered.  
  
My heart had not fallen onto his lap, although it beat with a vengeance.  
  
*** Spot had pulled away from the kiss. "I love you, Juliet."  
  
"I know," I had replied. "I love you, too."  
  
We both had looked to the house.  
  
He had looked back to me, worry filling the emerald jewels he called eyes.  
  
"Are ya sure you want to go back in there, Juliet? I mean."  
  
I had held my finger up and nodded. "Of course, Spot. I have to."  
  
He had looked at me, still concerned, and quickly kissed me. "I don't know if this is the brightest thing you've ever done, Juliet, but if ya want to. Go one. Good night."  
  
A smile had crossed my face, and I had an overwhelming sense of emotions erupt inside me. My arms had wrapped around his neck and I pushed my lips to his.  
  
I had known that he was taken aback, it was always he that had initiated the kissed, not I.  
  
I had pulled away. "I love you, Spot."  
  
Surprise had still lingered in the smooth crevices of his face, but he had smiled. "I love you, too."  
  
With that, like always, he had turned on his heel and walked forward into the fledgling darkness.  
  
Euphoria had rushed through every vein in my body as I approached the house. My old fears hadn't even crept up on me. All I had been thinking about was him. Him, my darling Spot who made my life worth living.  
  
Those thoughts had abounded through my head until I reached the first step and put my weight on in.  
  
"Juliet."  
  
The name had made my blood run cold.  
  
"Juliet."  
  
A fear then manifested itself in me that I cannot even put into words in this writing.  
  
"Juliet. I saw you with that boy. You can't lie to me, Juliet. Juliet, I am your father. I am, Juliet. Juliet, I am."  
  
I had spun around, and the scream lodged itself in my throat.  
  
He had stood behind me, his skin alive with a yellow tint and his watery eyes wide.  
  
In his hands, he had been holding a carving knife.  
  
"Juliet, I am your father, Juliet. That boy, I saw him, Juliet, I saw him. You can't lie to me, Juliet, you can't lie to me. I am your father, Juliet. Your father, Juliet."  
  
That name! He had repeated it so many, many times! And every time it had been like the scratching of nails down a chalkboard.  
  
"Juliet!"  
  
I had finally found my voice. "STOP! STOP! STOP!"  
  
A look of shock had invaded his eyes. "I am your father, Juliet. You can't talk like that to me, Juliet."  
  
He had held the knife up so, so very high above his head and I had known he was going to plunge it into my skull.  
  
So, I had screamed the only word that had entered my mind. "SPOT! SPOT! SPOT!"  
  
I had known it was impossible for him to here me. I had thought, if only I could get to the door.  
  
With a scream, I had dived passed my father, just as he had plunged the knife into the step I had once situated.  
  
The door. It had been only a few feet away. I had known I could get to it. I almost was, when I had felt a tug on the hem of my dress, which pulled me to the ground.  
  
"Juliet, you can't get away. It's no use, Juliet. Juliet, I saw you with the boy, Juliet."  
  
I had seen the sharp gleam of the knife glittering as my father held it over me.  
  
The tears had slid down my face as I kicked and screamed. "No, let me go! Let me go!"  
  
"Juliet. Juliet. Juliet."  
  
"JULIET!"  
  
I had heard the door bang open, and I heard his voice. His fantastically wonderful voice utter my name.  
  
"SPOT!" I had screamed.  
  
"JULIET!" he had cried, leaping onto my father and tackling him to the ground.  
  
I had weakly stood up, to see my father and Spot engaged in a battle over the blade.  
  
"NO!" I had screamed, pouncing on my father, who had held Spot pinned to the ground, the blade above his throat.  
  
My father had let out a grunt, and his grip on Spot had been released for the moment. Yet, he had flung me backwards, where I hit a wall, knocked unconscious.  
  
I do not know how long it had been before consciousness indeed found me. My eyes had fluttered open, and I had let out a groan.  
  
I had woosily sat up. I had placed a hand to my throbbing head, yet I had sensed something was wrong. Something had been wrong.  
  
All had been quiet.  
  
Panic had set in rather quickly. My breathing had increased, and I had stood up.  
  
"Spot?" I had shakily asked, my singular voice unsettlingly slicing through the silence.  
  
"Spot?" I had cried, walking forward in the darkness.  
  
"Spot?"  
  
That was when I had tripped over the unknown heap that lay on the floor. The heap that had brought me crashing to the ground.  
  
I had quickly sat up, and I had untangled myself from the heap. In the little light that had been left, that's when I had seen what it was.  
  
It had been Spot, my darling Spot, with the hilt of the carving knife protruding from his chest.  
  
So many emotions had hot me at that moment, it had felt as though two freight trains had collided in my psyche.  
  
I hadn't believed it. I couldn't have believed it.  
  
"No," I had whispered. "No."  
  
I had reached for his hand and clasped it in mine.  
  
It had been as cold as the winter's first snow.  
  
With a sob, I had let it drop to the ground, and that's when I had realized that I had been sitting in a pool of blood, a pool of blood which socked through the purity of my white dress.  
  
Spot, my darling Spot, was dead.  
  
It was at that moment that all my emotions were released, like the puncturing of a balloon with a pin.  
  
I had cried hysterically. "NO! NO! NO! DEAR GOD, NO!" I had sobbed, falling over his body and burying my face into his chest that breathed no more.  
  
It had been too much for me handle. What about the plans we had planned? What about the passion we had shared? All gone. All gone. All because of.  
  
I had heard a groan.  
  
I had raised my head from Spot's chest and I saw my father start to come to. I had guessed that Spot had knocked him out, all the while he had the blade in him.  
  
My father had raised himself to a sitting position.  
  
A red fury had invaded my mind. Why did Spot have do die? Why couldn't my father have perished instead?  
  
My father had shook his head, and his putrid brown eyes fell on me.  
  
"Juliet, that boy tried to kill me."  
  
That name! Oh, how awful he said my name!  
  
"Juliet, he tried, Juliet, to kill me."  
  
Please make it stop!  
  
"Juliet, you have to go, too, Juliet."  
  
It has to stop!  
  
"I am your father, Juliet, your father!"  
  
I knew that I could not taken it any longer. The name echoed inside my head (Juliet, Juliet, Juliet) as I had turned my attention back to Spot.  
  
Fresh tears had filled my eyes as I looked upon him. Oh my God, my Spot.  
  
"I love you," I had whispered, as I took hold of the hilt of the knife and pulled it out of his chest with a sickening sliding noise.  
  
"Juliet."  
  
I had taken the blade and pointed it faced me.  
  
"Juliet."  
  
I had looked at Spot's face, a face that resembled one of deep slumber. "Juliet."  
  
Tears had streamed down my face. "I love you."  
  
"Juliet."  
  
With one quick thrust, the blade penetrated my heart.  
  
"Juliet."  
  
I had let out an impossible noise and I had felt the pain over take me.  
  
"Juliet."  
  
"I love you," I had choked out, as I fell beside Spot.  
  
"Juliet."  
  
The blackness overcame me.  
  
"Juliet."  
  
*** "Juliet."  
  
He pulls me close, close enough that I can feel his chest rising and falling. Close enough that I can feel his hot breath invade my ear.  
  
"Juliet," he whispers into my ear, causing me to shudder. The way the word so sharply flows off his tongue, yet so softly. Like a knife cutting though butter.  
  
"I love you, Juliet."  
  
I gaze into his eyes, two enormous orbs of green fire. I feel myself get lost in them. I feel safe. Safe and I never want to let go.  
  
"I love you, too."  
  
  
  
What is in a name? A name. Quite a peculiar thing, don't you fancy? Everyone has one. Yet they are different. A name can mean all the difference in the world.  
  
Mine did. 


End file.
